


‘Lost Happiness hath left regret’

by marAA24



Series: Jonas Hunter lives AU [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 18:12:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14314332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marAA24/pseuds/marAA24
Summary: She looked from it to Rip in shock, “Director?”“I need you to do something for me and use that Ava.” He would hide his vulnerability, he would hide his desperation, but his mask was slipping.“Are you sure?”“Not at all. But I’ll never do what’s right for the world with this much anger, and it still needs saving.”...Rip Hunter is faced with an anachronism that calls for a decision he never wants to make.





	‘Lost Happiness hath left regret’

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NerdInABlueBox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdInABlueBox/gifts).



_I remember the prison I built myself_

_You and I can tear it all down and let the past begin to melt_

_I remember eternity and love that light has shown_

_I will fight for destiny_

_Cause you and I will never be alone_

 

 

Confinement never looked good on Rip Hunter, especially with questions itching under his skin and time threatening to come apart at the seams.

Rip hastily rummaged through the mess on the floor for a piece of paper, tore it in half. On one of the halves, he scribbled ‘Did breaking time bring Mallus?’ and on the other, he wrote, ‘Did the spear bring Mallus?’ Then stuck both pieces on what Agent Green called his ‘Wall of Crazy’. While Rip had no aversion to the title, and no matter the amount of help the agent had been, he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of using the term. It was more than enough they all took to calling Damien, Eobard, and Malcolm the Legion of Doom; he still didn’t know whose invention that was. 

All the same, the wall was used as evidence to keep him held in his prison. Apparently, his obsession with saving the world from another powerful being was too volatile; he ought to give up his quest and show remorse for his actions.

Show it—he couldn’t, but the guilt was certainly there, and it weighed heavily down on Rip every day since. He carried it on his mind among all his many regrets and failures. How was he meant to abandon the mission, especially, after the loss of his agents’ lives? Their sacrifice to the timeline and the world should not have been for naught. _Why could no one else recognise that!_

Recently, Agent Sharpe, his best and—if he allowed the discrimination—favourite agent, came to visit his cell. Unlike Agent Green (who no one knew he even came to see the former Director) she didn’t come bearing goods or leaked information. She did, however, have news for Rip. No one was to know it yet, but Mallus did prove himself to be real and revealed his existence to Sara Lance. And no, Rip was not allowed to ask questions of how she knew, or ‘Why not tell anyone? Honestly, Agent Sharpe, would you have me rot in prison?’

He was frostily reminded how his current accommodation was of his own actions, and how its conditions were vastly different to their arrest standards.

Although Rip didn’t deem his treatment ‘special’ in the least, he didn’t argue more on the matter. Ava promised to get him any information she’d come across, but until viable and tangible proof existed to be presented to the Council and Director Bennet, they were to keep it under wraps. For a brief minute, her eyes stared regretfully at her former director, “I’m sorry for letting this happen to you.” She gestured to the glass surrounding him.

Rip replied lightly, “I complain a lot, Agent Sharpe. Don’t worry about me, I’ve had worse circumstances.”

“Even so, Dir—Mr—Director Hunter.” Ava nodded confidently. “I should’ve had more faith in you, you’ve already told me about Mallus and I should have helped you and spoken up in the moment of your arrest.”

Her sincerity and show of solodarity unnerved him. “It is alright, Ava. I wouldn’t have both of us in here, your job and contribution to the Bureau are too valuable to be tarnished by my ‘erratic behaviour’… It is better I face the consequences alone.” True to character, Ava started to object, but Rip beat her to it. “Agent Sharpe, we now surely know Mallus is out there, and I need my best agent there to help defeat him.”

She raised a sceptical eyebrow. “I thought those were the Legends.

Rip chuckled. “I’ve mentioned before, the Legends are the chainsaw, but someone needs to wield it. They can’t do it without guidance, you’ll be there for them, Agent.”

“What about you?”

He sighed, then answered, “Whatever role I play, no one trusts me to do it, at the moment.” Rip gave her a pointed look. “They trust _you_ , they and the world need _you_ right now to save it.” She left shortly after, not before relaying the terrible news of his friend’s departure.

Prison, time, and grief for Martin’s death found Rip in a worse state than imagined. In his drive to distract himself from the sadness that ailed him, the helplessness of his situation, and the urgency of the impending doom that Mallus would bring upon them; he hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten, or taken the much advised and implored break by Agent Green. Rip’s state was dreadful. Until one day, or evening—he couldn’t tell anymore, the lights went off. Darkness took over.

Begrudgingly, Rip put down his notebook, hugged the pendant to his chest and lay down on the floor. The soreness of his muscles and exhaustion caught up to him, so he slept on the cold, paper-covered ground with the images of Miranda, Jonas, Charles, Henry, and Martin haunting him all night long.

Time passed him by like a stranger. Days with no beginnings went into nights that didn’t end. It all mixed in a haze of agitated, nightmare-plagued sleep, and floating words. His mind too deeply caught up in Mallus, and Martin, and death. He thought with a bitter taste of irony how he, of all people, had completely lost sense of time.

***

No one ever really understood Rip Hunter.

Ava had the suspicion few had tried, and had he known that fact, the man would hardly have allowed it. Her director—or former director as she was meant to accept—had walls built around his walls, he was a Matryoshka doll of secrets within secrets. With all his caginess and fanatical pursues, it never deterred her from respecting him. Since day one, she stood beside him through all his expeditions, saved him from his recklessness, turned the lights off on him to force him to sleep, and agreed to his half-conceived, outlandish plans. It always paid off at the end of the day.

He was a good Director. A capable leader, not blameless or without fault, but reliable and moral to inspire loyalty in the agents. If Ava went back in time and warned the agents who died at the hand of Damien, she suspected they’d all do it again. They shared his belief in the nobility of the mission, to protect time and the world, though Director Bennet didn’t always agree with Rip’s methods. It was after all Hunter’s reasoning to having more than one director heading the bureau. Bennet hated Rip’s withholding nature, his private missions, the obsessive drive to lore and stories, but most of all, allowing the Legends to roam around freely.

The Legends were a whole other story of their right. At first, they just heard some stories from Rip, mostly from Gideon, and observing the timeline. Their halfway patch-up method of fixing problems and messy quality in dealing with aberrations was terrible, then the rippling effects of breaking time was the final nail in the coffin. Rip explained how dire the situation was, excused it as the last resort; the agents believed him—he was the great Time Master after all—but it didn’t prevent the disliking and scoffing at them. Meeting them and seeing them in action only drove the point home. The Legends became the failure stories and mockeries of the Time Bureau.

Speaking of the Legends, Ava had received a message requesting a call. She wouldn’t have thought much of it had it not been from Gideon instead of Sara. Ava worked the algorithm to place the call on a subchannel that was shadowed from the Director Bennet’s knowledge. She normally wouldn’t have needed it, but the Director demanded all communication to the Legends be ceased after her last ride with them. “If they want to exercise freedom, the Bureau is washing its hands from them,” he affirmed.

The image of Sara appeared on the small display, her eyebrows furrowed and eyes worried.  “I know this seems uncharacteristic to ask for help so soon.” Sara started, and while Ava was learning to like her, she still had to refrain from rolling her eyes. She urged the legend’s captain on to continue with a nod. “We ran into an anachronism.”

Ava exhaled and looked at the monitor, checked for any major irregularities. “Well, I don’t see a level thousand anachronism and time hasn’t collapsed on itself, so what’s the problem?”

The Waverider’s Captain seemed to be incapable of the same level of tolerance and rolled her eyes. “It’s not that. It’s a very minor one, Gideon said a level one.”

“So, what’s the problem? I’m sure even you can handle a level one. You can’t find the source?”

Sara scoffed but rose above the insult, which was the real surprise to Ava. “No, we found it. We just don’t know his identity, he’s not registered anywhere, in any time. He’s been out of his time for a while, we can’t pinpoint when he was thrown there, where and when he’s from. He won’t tell us, because he doesn’t want to go back.”

“You kept Ms. Tomaz with you, take him as well.” Ava shrugged.

“We can’t!” Sara exclaimed. “He’s seventeen, it’s too dangerous. Well… and Gideon wouldn’t let him…” Sara paused, the worried look returned. “It was Gideon’s suggestion we contact you—no actually, she hijacked the ship and locked us out of her system.”

“She can’t hijack the ship if she commands it,” Ava muttered. The agent learned the hard way that the Waverider belonged to no one, but Gideon. “What am I supposed to do?”

"Gideon thinks Rip is the only one who knows what to do.”

Shaking her head firmly, she turned her strongest glare on Sara. “Whatever plan you have or hope to have, that’s a no. No one’s allowed to see Rip, certainly not the Legends.” The Captain started to argue. “No, Sara! You don’t understand; I take you there and we _all_ join him.”

“Oh, please. Of course, you have ways to sneak around, how hard can it be? We stole the Waverider from right under your noses.” Sara had the audacity to look smug.

“The only reason you managed to take the Waverider was because Rip allowed it. I’m his second, Sara, I knew he planned to let you guys take it, and then let you have it. My mission from Director Hunter wasn’t to bring you in, it was to oversee your work and minimise all the damage you leave.”

“That’s not true, you tried to arrest us every chance you got.”

Ava looked away and murmured, “That was for Director Bennet’s benefit.”

“Ha! So you do things behind his back too.”

“Sara, that’s different, Director Bennet takes the security on Rip very seriously.” She only got a raised brow and a knowing look. Ava sighed resignedly. “Only you and the anachronism, and this is only because Gideon thinks it’s important.” Sara nodded silently for once. “Get the Legends to lay low.” The call disconnected shortly, and Ava sighed deeply. A day would come, and she was sure she will regret this.

She left her office to find Agent Green. The man was not easy to find, ask anybody, they’d all say they saw him doing something different, ranging from hitting the vending machines to a mission in Russia 2079. Ava successfully found him in the atrium lounge, conspicuously observing all passing agents’ movements. She gestured for him to move as she walked up to him, he dawdled but reluctantly followed her. She stopped at a corner that oversaw the whole area, Gary nervously stood at arm’s length, his eyes dancing around the place.

“Whatever you thought you heard I did,” he did an exaggerated shrug. “I blame it on the Legends.” He wavered when Ava held her hand to stop him. “Alright, yes, I know the ‘Legends made me do it’ was quashed months ago.” He gave a frantic, sudden laugh, his arms flapping about. She noticed—unavoidably as Gary almost smacked her with it—a bag of jellybeans in his hand. “…and the fiasco with the Russian Mafia was all a misunderstanding and has been resolved.”

“The Russians?”

The other agent muttered to himself, “Who knew they were as unforgiving in the 2080s?” Ava nearly forgot her purpose as he babbled on, “As I said, it’s been dealt with.” He waved coolly. “Completely and properly.”

To save anymore wasted time, Ava gave him her reproaching glare, and held up her hand. “We will discuss that later, Agent Green. Right now, there’s more urgent problems.” He sighed in relief and she almost changed her mind, but a disaster was looming.

Ava hated breaking the rules and not following instructions. One could make an argument helping Director Hunter lie to Director Bennet was breaking the rules. Ava would refute the argument by simply pointing that she _was_ following the Director’s orders, but how lawful they were was not her concern and above her paygrade. This, though, was definitely and undoubtedly breaking a couple of the bureau’s rules.

“Do you remember mission Chainsaw?” Gary nodded cautiously. “Well, it’s back into action.” His eyes wide, face adorned with many questions. “Don’t worry—”

“Don’t worry?” He whisper-shouted, his version of it, at least.

“Yes. Lower your voice!” She glanced around quickly to check for any unwanted attention. “I just need you to get Agent Estevez to start his shift—”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it, I’ll explain later. When you take this to Rip,” she eyed the bag of coloured, sugar goods. “Try to give him a heads up.”

He put the bag to his heart in faux shock, but his eyes betrayed the panic. With a startled laugh, he answered, “What… no! Those are …mine, for me.”

“You hate them,” she pointed out, then raised a brow as he ripped open the bag.

“I love them,” he said in a matter-of-fact, popping a red one in his mouth. His face changed colours before it got stuck between a grimace and a strained smile. “They’re my favourite,” he said behind clenched teeth.

Ava rolled her eyes at his nonsense. “I know you’ve been sneaking him things and information, Gary.”

“Gee! I have no—” he started, but Ava stopped him with a raised hand and a stern look.

“Don’t—Just, do what I told you now.” She steered him toward the hall into the elevator. He stumbled, but caught himself. “Be careful, this isn’t exactly… authorised.”

He gestured madly. “I’m wildly aware,” he exclaimed. “Why are you doing this, though?” The Agent herself was wondering just the same. She mused, _the Legends made me do it_. Ava only vaguely shrugged, then hurried away to meet with the Legends.

***

Rip didn’t need to look for the warning signs. They came knocking at his door in the form of a jumpy Agent Green, who threw an opened bag of jellybeans at Rip, and Agent Estevez, who gave him an acknowledging nod, taking over the guard shift. It all looked very suspicious to Rip, but he didn’t have to speculate long. Agent Green announced that Agent Sharpe ordered to switch the shifts and she had a ‘really sketchy, totally against protocol’ plan that was bound to get them all in trouble.

“But rest assured, it’s all under control,” he told him, rather unconvincingly, eyes the size of dining plates behind his glasses. Then, he ran out.

There was no option other than sit and wait. Clearing the area and putting one of Rip’s team—former-team, he ought to remember—to watch obviously meant Ava was coming to see him. Except, she already had before without the added fuss, so whatever she had arranged would clearly not end well.

Rip looked at his surroundings, from the wall of crazy to the littered floor; it looked like a mad man’s lair. For a brief moment, he thought to tidy up the space as best he could, but due to a couple of reasons he decided to leave the chaos as it was.

Absorbed in his reading, an hour passed until the door at the end of the corridor opened again. Rip went still with anticipation, two pairs of footsteps stopped in front of the glass wall. He looked up to have his fleeting suspicion of the Legends’ involvement confirmed with the sight of Sara Lance, standing confidently as if she had all the right to be. But her eyes, her eyes showed something akin to guilt with the sadness that always resided in them. He couldn’t look at her for long without stirring a bursting contradiction of emotions.

He was very glad to see she was alright, and felt an urge to apologise and assure her for the death of their friend Martin, as well as to shake her shoulders and ask how she could let it happen. Unjustified in doing so—because Rip himself knew what it was like to lose friends and team members on missions; he led many of them to death himself and the self-blame was inevitable and never quite went away—he looked down at his notes. “What can I do for you…” he had considered momentarily to call her Miss, but the words came out of his mouth with a touch of bitterness, “Captain Lance?”

“We need your help,” she said straight to the point, not even bothering with a greeting. He realised it was much too dangerous, and time was tight to exchange pleasantries. He raised a brow in response; she took that as a queue to continue, “With an anachronism.”

“What is it that you need my help when you have the Bureau at your disposal?”

“I wouldn’t have put anyone in trouble,” she glanced at Agent Sharpe pointedly, “But Gideon strongly suggested I come to you.”

He tilted his head. _How curious!_ Out of all the people, and of all his actions, he felt most regret for hurting Gideon, again. “Did she now?” He gestured toward her with the book still in hand. “And you disagree?”

“Not entirely,” she crossed her arms. “In this world, you are the most…knowledgable." He nodded, holding back a sombre laugh. Her hesitance for the choice of words evidently betrayed her lasting distrust. “Well, and Gideon really insisted. She thinks you’ll know what to do.”

He put the book away, drawing Sara’s attention to the room, her eyes finally wandering around the cell until they landed on the wall eventually and her face soured. “She trusts you.” Her tone of voice made it clear that Sara had yet to trust him as well.

Rip remained quiet, waiting for the captain to form her words.

“Rip you betrayed us!” she said heatedly. Rip came very near to rolling his eyes. “You promised you understood what bringing Darhk from the dead meant to me. You lied and then you locked us in the Waverider.”

“That was to protect you from Damien.”

“He was going to kill _you_ , you’d be dead if we didn’t show up on time.” She got closer to the glass. A memory flashed in his mind, another time where he had been sitting in a similar glass cage with Sara on the other side, he was different then, there was a stillness to his mind, a dark and murky pool of memories. He remembered feeling trapped and feeling freed at the same time. He remembered every horrible deed he did to people he called his friends.   

 Sara continued, her fists placed on the glass wall, “You let Darhk get resurrected.”

“I hardly _let_ him.” Rip met Sara’s determined and indignant eyes, and gravely told her, “Damien Darhk isn’t your monster alone, Sara.” She took a step back, hands falling to her sides. Rip remembered another cell with both of them in it, a hand being held to him, her words ‘You are Captain Rip Hunter’ echoing in his mind. He continued, “it had to happen like this, Sara, there was no other way.”

She didn’t have the opportunity to answer when Agent Sharpe put an end to the conversation, much to his relief. “We have an important matter to address; personal business can wait.”

“You’re right,” Sara said, then nodded affirmatively for the Agent who signalled through the coms for Agent Green to bring the anachronism in.

A bad feeling started to consume Rip, he was nervous for no apparent reason, while almost shaking with anticipation. The sound of footfalls rang in his ear as it neared, until finally the two figures stood in front of him. His eyes skated past Agent Green to the teenager beside him, and froze. The boy looked barely of age, brown curious eyes, Rip watched as they widened and felt the shock ripple through him.

“It’s you…” the boy trailed off.

His voice filled with pain, Rip whispered, “Jonas!”

Everyone’s head whipped to the kid. “Dad?”

***

There was screaming, lots of screaming. Mother said to ignore them, but she was the first to run towards them, she had to help them. She would explain it was her duty. Jonas would argue, ‘you’re not a doctor or a nurse,’ and she would softly reply, “My duty as a human, Jonas.”

Then a man showed up, surrounded by others, their weapons drawn. His mother hugged him and when the man came close, she stood bravely—she was his hero—and was immediately shot. Jonas swallowed down his cry and held his tears, if his mother taught him courage, his father taught him defiance, and they both showed him how to stand on his own feet.

“What’s your name, son?” _not your son._

He got up, his legs wobbling. His head held high and said, “Jonas.”

The man went down on his level, and if Jonas were older or understood the cruelty of the world and that man, he’d know that Vandal Savage would never get down on his knees or lower himself for anyone. “Your mother was brave, just as your father was foolish.” Jonas was starting to get really scared, but he wouldn’t show it to the man. “Which are you?”

Jonas wanted to be like his mother; he wanted to be brave. Jonas wanted to be like his father, strong and great. Jonas was scared and didn’t want to die, but he had to be brave, for his parents. He looked at the man who killed his mother and probably his father, and he learned hate and anger for the first time.

Jonas looked the man in the eye and spit in it.

“So, you take after your mother, ha?” the killer stood up, smiling, his hand patted Jonas’ cheek.

He couldn’t feel hope as the killer turned away, not with his mother’s body lifeless next to him, not with his father possibly gone. Not with the screams and dead people all around, or the smoke that no matter how heavy couldn’t hide the ugliness of war. 

But he was only eight and the concept of death was already too familiar and scary, and so for a second Jonas did have hope—he hoped and wished and prayed—long enough for the man to turn around, this time with a gun.

The man said, “Or not.” And a flash of light headed for Jonas, he felt the air move around him, ruffle his hair. He closed his eyes.

Nothing. The screams stopped, the gun shots, all sounds were gone, except a distant humming. Jonas slowly opened his eyes, _no man_ , he thought. No one, he meant. He looked down the narrow alleyway, it definitely wasn’t the war. His mother wasn’t on the ground dead, there were no guns.

It didn’t look like his London, before the war when it was still standing and pretty. Jonas didn’t know where or when he was, the buildings looked old and different but not like the pictures he had seen, it didn’t look like the neighbourhood and houses of Grandma Mary’s time either.

Jonas was lost, but alive, for years. He liked being alive, but he also regretted ever hoping for it. 

***

“What? How?” Sara broke the silence, staring between Jonas and Rip. “Gary, take Jon outside, I need a moment with Rip.”

Ava started protesting but Rip was loudest. “Sara, no!” he yelled scrambling to his feet.

 Jon—or Jonas as Sara was trying to comprehend—shook his head repeatedly. Sara gestured for Gary to do it. “Hey, no, no. Captain Lance, please don’t.” The boy begged as Rip threw himself against the glass.

“I’ll bring you back, don’t worry-” she promised, “Ava, please, just take him outside to wait for a second.”  Bringing Jon here was a bad idea, but she understood why Gideon pushed so much for the plan.

Her former Captain banged on the glass. “Sara, what are you doing? That’s…” he pointed at Jonas who was being persuaded by Gary. “Don’t.”

“I’ll bring him back, Rip.” The man just shook his head, looked torn, desperate, and ready to throw down. Her guilt tripled in size and squeezed her chest, but she needed time to make sense of the situation. “I promise.” She turned to Gary and Jon and told them, “Go outside, get him something to eat, I don’t know, it won’t be for long, alright?” She got her best non-threatening face and smiled encouragingly.

Ava was visibly tense, her expression worried. She looked to Rip and nodded firmly. “Director, I promise you time with the boy. I’ll bring him in there with you if you want, I’ll find a way,” she said resolutely. It barely placated Rip, but he stopped trying to break through his cell. Ava guided Jonas away, Gary threw a last glance at Rip and ran after them.

“I’m sorry, Rip. I didn’t know.” It did make sense, though. Jonas hid his real name, wouldn’t tell them where or when he was from, wouldn’t talk to any of them, and lied about knowing Gideon and the Waverider. He was his father’s son, down to mannerisms, the grit, and stubbornness.

“I don’t need an apology, Miss Lance.” He pointed to the end of the corridor and continued, “I want to see my _son_ , I need-”

“I know Rip, and if I had known I wouldn’t have brought him here.”

He looked incredulous. “Why not?”

“It’s not fair to you to see him alive, only to be taken away.” As soon as the words left her month she knew she was losing him. His walls were coming up with an added force field. “Rip, you know we have to put him back, or—”

“I don’t need you to lecture me on the dangers of anachronisms, Miss Lance, I’m well familiar with them,” he said crossly. Sara was used to his temper and didn’t flinch, but she tensed, and Rip saw it. He ran his hands from his face to gripping his hair. “Where did you find him?”  

“London, 2017. Because it was a level one, I went alone and found him. He’d obviously been there for a while, he wouldn’t tell us when, because he didn’t want to go back.” Rip took a shaky breath that broke Sara’s heart. “He didn’t tell us he knew the Waverider and neither did Gideon. She took over the Waverider and demanded we bring him to you.” Sara muttered to herself, “I probably should’ve guessed.”

***

Rip wanted to pace, hoping it would help, but he willed himself to stand in place and took to pulling at his hair instead. His son, Jonas, his boy was there, a few feet away, then further and further until he was out the door. He wanted to break everything and scream at the blonde before him, but Rip had years in exercise of control and he strained to employ them and not explode.

Jonas stood there, almost at Rip’s height, the childlike eyes, which he dreamed about for years, grew hardened but maintained the softness he got from his mother. The ghost of Jonas’ limp body in his arms still fresh, regardless of the years to pass. And yet, he was _right there_ , in front of him, alive and well, sad, and hopeful. For nine years, he’d been in London while Rip roamed the planet and space to build the Bureau, and his son was alone in a city, out of his time.

“Sara, thank you for bringing him here.” He wouldn’t give her time to argue. “Could you get Agent Sharpe for me, please? We’ve got it from here.”

The woman he had considered a friend—and still did to an extent—nodded acceptingly, her tough and angry exterior with which she came in with was gone, the sadness amplified in her stare. “I have no right to tell you how to deal with it, he’s your son, and if I had Laurel back—” she choked on her breath. “I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

“You could have Sara, and you made the right decision for the greater good, many times.”

She muttered something, Rip only caught the words ‘not a child.’ Sara shook her head and heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry you have to deal with it.” With a final nod, Sara Lance walked away, leaving Rip standing there with a flood of emotions threatening to drown him. The ebb and flow of hope making him breathless.

Shortly after the Captain’s departure, Agent Sharpe walked back, assuring Rip that he would be able to see Jonas. Rip didn’t doubt she could do it. “I want you to review the anachronism and every percentage of impact it would have on the timeline as well as how long until it takes effect.”

“Yes, Director.”

***

Energy coursed through his veins, he needed to do something, had to move, so he decided to finally clean up the place. It barely helped, but it did waste time until Rip heard the hiss of his cell opening; the book slipped from him to the floor with a thud, a shuffling of feet froze Rip in place when he so longed to run.

He slowly walked to the door, a shiver ran through his spine that pushed him faster into the hall. Jonas stopped dragging his feet, his eyes wide the same way his mother’s would, fearful, yet hopeful. Rip surged forward, his son meeting him in an embrace that washed over Rip. Oh, how he had longed and wished for this moment again, from a dream engulfed in the strong, warm sunbeams. He thought he’d have to die before ever holding his own child again. Although, it was different in reality—Jonas was much older and taller—than he imagined. It was comforting and overwhelming. Rip stored the feeling, the vividness of the moment for when the universe inevitably took it all away.

“I failed you,” the words left in a whisper of their own accord, but every part of him believed it, echoed it, and it reverberated in his bones. “Both you and your mother.”

Jonas pulled away from Rip and he immediately felt the loss. “No, you didn’t,” he said, looking at the cell. “The Agent said to keep inside to make her job scrambling the footage easier.” Jonas shrugged very similarly to his father. Rip agreed and reluctantly lead Jonas to the cell, doors immediately shutting behind them.

A moment of silence passed as Jonas looked around the room, no amount of scattered paper, books, or Rip’s taped notes got his attention; he only had eyes for the pocket watch. “You didn’t fail us, it was out of your hands.” He finally looked up at Rip. “Gideon told me about what the Time Masters did, how you fought for years, that’s why the Legends exist in the first place, right?”

“Is there anything Gideon didn’t tell you?”

Jonas sat on the desk, the open watch in his hands, the image of his son’s sorrowful expression at seeing his mother made his heart clench. He felt powerless in protecting his son from his grief. It was something he knew all too well. Jonas eventually closed it and said, “Gideon, couldn’t explain why you would leave her with the legends, why you would leave the Waverider to them.”

Rip didn’t know how to get into explaining that, he gestured vaguely; Jonas smiled. “Mum used to hate it when you did that, and when I started doing it.” He mimicked Rip to the T. It startled a laugh out of Rip, making Jonas’ smile grow.

“How did this happen?”

 Jonas looked to the wall, fumbling with the watch. “Men showed up, they killed… mum, and I thought you too, because the man mentioned you. I was this close—” His fingers were closely touching, not even a hairline separating them. “Suddenly, I was in a whole other place, it was in another London. I don’t know how it happened, or how to get back.” Rip didn’t buy the shrug one bit. He had so many questions, but he could see Jonas was not in a sharing mood. “So, why did you leave the Waverider? I like Captain Lance, but you always said it was your home, and Gideon your best friend.” He let out a small laugh. “Mum used to say Gideon was the only person she wouldn’t fight against for you.”

“She did? She loved Gideon.”

“Of course, so did I. Gideon is the best, she was my first friend as well.” Rip couldn’t help the fond smile. He so achingly missed his family, watching Jonas mess with Gideon, or Miranda and Gideon ganging up on Rip. He missed all of them.

Rip began to explain what happened to time: how it broke, how he needed to fix it and the Legends weren’t enough to restore the timeline, he told him little about the Legion of Doom and his run in with them. Of course, Jonas ignored all of it and demanded stories about the JSA, which were happily told. Rip tried to account for his reasons for leaving the Waverider, without worrying him with many details; it was somewhat successful. Jonas in return, eventually told him a little about the nine years he spent in the twenty-first century.

In a true history-repeating-itself twist, Rip aggravatedly found most of the events of Jonas’ stay in the past to be too paralleled to his own childhood. His temper flared, aimed at mostly himself. His son insisted it was alright, assured him he had good days, enjoyed going to a real school for a while. Rip wasn’t at all convinced; he knew what living on the streets was like. Until Jonas argued, “It was better than dying” that Rip was at a loss of words, and full of shame.

A silence fell and eyes avoided meeting when Agent Sharpe appeared, looking very uncomfortable and apologetic. “I’m sorry for interrupting, Director. This is important.”

“Do I have to leave?” Jonas asked, worriedly.

“That’s your father’s decision.” She eyed Rip cautiously.

He knew what she was trying to warn him about the nature of news, but Rip couldn’t let Jonas out of his sight, and he said so. The agent nodded and carried on, “I ran the checks and the anachronism has reached a level three. We—well, Agent Green and I—suspect it’ll only go higher. Jonas was out of his time for a while, while it had nominal effects on the current timeline, it is affecting the future. Jonas wasn’t placed among the death list, it still hasn’t influenced your past directly, but it will sooner or later.” Rip buried his face in his hands, no air in the world was sufficient for the endless sigh he could breathe.

Rip risked breaking the dam of tears he so exerted himself to keep at bay. _The world must really hate me_. He ushered Ava to continue after noticing her lingering pause, she was getting increasingly worried.

“This means your pursuit of—” Rip shook his head before she said the name; she quickly picked up and omitted it. “You would look for Jonas.”

“I could still never locate him.”

“Director, I’ve seen your resourcefulness, it calculated a more than an eighty-seven percent chance you succeed.” She let it sink in, and went on, “You wouldn’t recruit the Legends. And while normally I wouldn’t distaste that happening, they have saved the world twice.”

In a small voice, Jonas spoke up, “I have to go back?”

“We can find a way.”

“I wish he could, but I ran all the possibilities, Sir. He can’t stay here, he can’t even stay with the Legends. Every algorithm returned a higher anachronism, and none ended well. Besides… the destruction of the Vanishing Point and the Time Masters could be undone.”

It felt like the last slam of a door in his face. The Time Bureau would cease to exist, the Oculus would be intact, the war would continue in the future, Savage would keep his empire or planet. “I don’t believe that just because the life of my child would be spared, I would let the world go to waste.”

“You’d probably still want to save it, but you wouldn’t risk Jonas’ life again. The Time Masters could get rid of both of you, they could go back to controlling the outcome and maybe even kill Jonas again. It goes wrong, Director.” He nearly growled, the noise far from human.      

_History is war and slavery and holding a dead son in your arms. There's no point in protecting history, so we might as well just burn it all down._

How could such an apathetic part of him ever be right? The Rip shackled to the rewiring of his mind hated uttering those words at the time. How can he agree with it? But to burn and condemn the future, break time further for taking away his _son,_ his own blood again and again. How many times could he take that loss?

“Dad…” Rip started at the word. “You already knew I can’t stay.”

“There has to be a way,” he whispered.

“Not like this, not when it hurts people,” his son contended. “You won’t have it, mum won’t have it, and I am old enough now to say, me neither.”

Jonas walked up to his father, and this time when he hugged him, his hands reached higher than his knees as Rip was accustomed to. “You have to let me go.” The first tear started to roll. “Mum won’t be alone now.” And then the whole dam broke as well.

***

The lights dimmed in a way that matched his frame of mind, he couldn’t tell if someone lowered them or Rip had literally and completely lost the light in his life. He sat there alone for a while, the mess created around him vastly different from the beginning of the day. Every piece of paper was torn and strewn, all items—from books to furniture—discarded and thrown all over. The wall dismantled and destroyed in a fit of rage. Mallus having become but a weak current in the sea of Rip’s pain.

Jonas left with Agent Sharpe; they would extract him from when he first got to London 2008. He cried and smashed as his son was sent to his death.

Agent Sharpe and Agent Green waited behind the glass at a loss. “Agent Green, did you get what I asked?” The addressed agent nodded. He took out the device and handed it to the other agent.

She looked from it to Rip in shock, “Director?”

“I need you to do something for me and use that Ava.” He would hide his vulnerability, he would hide his desperation, but his mask was slipping.

“But—”

“Getting better after losing my family, I managed. Sending my own son back to his death, I can’t. Today, that’s all you’ll have to take. I already regret forgetting how he looked so grown up, despite all the pain it brought, I am glad to have had the chance, so thank Gideon for me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Not at all. But I’ll never do what’s right for the world with this much anger, and it still needs saving.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, thank you for all your help today.” He gave her a tiny smile. “Please, do it.”

She pointed the flash gun in his face and regretted ever agreeing to this day. Her Director fell to bed unconscious.

***

“When he wakes up, he won’t remember anything from this. The entire day will be gone to him, and all his days have resided to monotony, he won’t notice it.” Ava announced to the glum faces of the Legends, hers similar with an added stern frown.

“But we saved the boy, why can’t you tell him?”

Ava exhaled tiredly. “If we tell him, now, it will have the same previous effects. To the timeline, Jonas is dead. It will keep Rip on track for his mission and he will recruit the Legends. At least now the kid has someone to raise him, instead of growing up on the streets.” Ava had to ask, “How did you know to do that?”

“I went through all the data on the Time Masters with Gideon, how they would pick up orphans close to their death and fake it if they had to, and we found that three of the Refugees were still running, one of them Rip grew up in, and we didn’t want to risk it. So, we dropped him in one of the others.”

“Thank you, Miss Tomaz, and you Gideon—that’s from Rip himself.” Ava gave the woman a genuine smile, Zari had saved her from having to place an eight-year-old to his death. Jonas was still presumed dead and the Time Master Rip Hunter believed it and didn’t have to go looking for a chance of his survival. Maybe one day, when the timeline was restored and all anachronisms are dealt with, Ava would bring Jonas to Rip. After what she saw and had to do to help her former Director cope with the loss of his child for the second time, she vowed to see their reunion. “What you did was nothing short of miraculous.”

Zari returned the smile, mirroring the sadness in Ava’s. “Rip Hunter saved my life, I owed him. And if I learned to hack history, I’m going to help wherever I can.”

 Gratefully, Ava nodded to Zari, her respect for the woman growing. “Just remember, and that’s to all of you,” she said eyeing the Legends, and pointed to Mr Rory, “especially you. No one mentions or references this to Rip, ever, at all. And anyone who does will answer to me.”

Agent Green squeaked from behind her, “And me.” She had sent him in earlier to fix everything in Rip’s cell. Ava nodded to show the significance of her and Gary’s words, ignoring how non-threatening his were.

“Any one does, and I will throw you in a black hole.” All the Legends simultaneously agreed.  

Rip Hunter would remember nothing, but Ava swore to reunite them at all costs. And one day, she made good on her promise.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was done as part of the RipChat Fic Exchange.
> 
> Dedicated to NerdInABlueBox aka ouchthatwasgood on Tumblr.


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